


November 16th

by Pessimystic



Category: Charmed
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-06-28
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pessimystic/pseuds/Pessimystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: In the words of lolcat. Do Not Want! ...to be sued. So. Don't. Please?<br/>All sections are in the changed timeline unless otherwise stated.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Intuition

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: In the words of lolcat. Do Not Want! ...to be sued. So. Don't. Please?  
> All sections are in the changed timeline unless otherwise stated.

Disclaimer: In the words of lolcat. Do Not Want! ...to be sued. So. Don't. Please?  
All sections are in the unchanged timeline unless otherwise stated.

 **November 16th, 2013. 8:00**

Burying the warding crystals around the school had certainly seemed like a good idea at the time. The sisters, spoiled by the complete safety of Magic School, were looking to make something similar out of their mortal one. They missed the security and peace of mind of knowing that when their kids were safe from 8-3 each day. So what could they do? Pre-enchanted protective crystals, and good ones too. So powerful that any form of evil couldn't get within sixty paces of the building without their skin peeling off.

They sisters congratulated themselves on their own brilliance and allowed themselves to relax. Then some Warlock got it into his head to switch the ward's polarity, keeping anything good from getting in... or out, as the situation current happened to be.

Now, as he wedged himself under Principal Yoder's desk, staring dully at a inspirational poster clearly labeled "Determination", nine-year-old Christopher Halliwell couldn't help but develop a quick hatred for magical stones of any kind. Scrying? Never again. Wards, no way. He could only hope there were no spells in the Book that required dust of warding stones because even that would be too much. Right then, all he really wanted to do was think of horrible places to orb warding crystals just as soon as he got out... that is, _if_ he got out.

He supposed he should just be glad that the ward hadn't stopped any of the mortals from getting out. He just wished Wyatt was in there with him. He imagined this scenario going drastically more in his favor then.

"...Happy birthday to you...Happy birthday to yoou..."

The voice echoed down the empty hallways and Chris covered his ears stubbornly. It was the demon. He didn't know how the thing had found out it was his birthday, but he'd been singing it ever since, and off-key to boot.

"Happy biiiiirthday dear Wit-chyyy..." The demon's voice reached a particularly sharp grating note just as he poked his alarmingly purple face into the room.

Chris gulped down his fear and froze, trying not to rattle the cheap imitation plywood desk with the shaking in his arms. He leaned, ever so slightly, peering out a small gap in the siding. He hadn't had a real chance to look at the demon until now, and he wanted to know what he was dealing with.

The demon was oddly proportioned and disturbingly purple. The way his face was arranged left him looking perpetually happy, his mouth cutting a line literally from ear to ear, thick with needle teeth. Sharp, bone white horns grew out from its temples, sticking close to his head and curling around to join at the back of his neck. Its whole body was thick with thin muscle and spiked with bone claws, it was a regular nightmare under the bed, everything a kid should be scared of.

Despite the advantage of prior experience, Chris shouldn't be any exception. He'd never had to face one of these things solo before, especially not for extended periods of time. Yet even as he listened to the demon's feet squishing grotesquely against the tile, nails clicking right after like a tiny macabre drumline, Chris realized something. He was inexperienced, nearly powerless, and all alone. He should be terrified.

He wasn't. He was utterly pissed off.

It was the familiarity, Chris pinpointed. Hovering at the back of his mind like an annoying tune you couldn't put a name to. He'd felt the sensation before. Wyatt called it his "Intuition" and experience had taught the both of them not to question it.

Chris peeked out from under the desk again, getting a letterbox view of the demon's legs, backwards hinged and meaty. A large, yellow scar traced down the back of the thing's leg like a zipper. It was an old wound, expertly placed to cut all three of the tendons along the multi-jointed leg.

Chris had to stop himself from audibly gasping as the pinprick of light that was his Intuition brightened and expanded.

… _."You sent me into a trap, Dax. That's a hell of a big problem. I don't have time to deal with this. I'm going ask nicely one more time, and you're going to answer me truthfully if you feel like walking again..."..._

He _knew_ this demon...

Not just in a general way though. He knew his powers, his preferred prey, he knew where he hung out, who his allies were... he could even recall his favorite alcoholic beverage, whatever the heck a Mojito was.

Most importantly, he knew how to vanquish him.

"Birthday boy!" The demon cheerfully crooned, slamming its claws down on top of the desk as if it were a drum, "You have to come out so I can use you as bait! Doesn't that sound nice?"

In a rush of confidence, Chris pulled himself from behind the desk, finding himself close enough to the demon's face to count the teeth in his smile. He smiled right back, displaying his own canines in a grin no nine year old should ever be capable of.

"Hey Dax. How's the leg?"

He had a moment to see the closest approximation of shock on a Demon's face before he grabbed a stapler off the desk and planted the business end in the demon's nose. He didn't wait to hear the thing howl in annoyance and orbed down the hallway, breaking into a run as soon as his feet hit the cheap tiling, careening down the hallway and orbing through a locked door.

He heard the Dax hit the door behind him but didn't stop. He used the time to scramble to the back of the room and into the janitor's closet, pulling open toolboxes and hoping that everything in here was just as old as the rest of the school.

The Dax crashed through the door, breaking the door neatly in half.

" _ **You.**_ " The demon hissed as soon as it caught up with him, murder in its black eyes. "It is not possible."

Chris ignored the comments, not in any mood to decode the ramblings of an insane demon and clawed open the hatch on the last box on the shelf, grinning.

The Dax snapped its teeth, "It matters not. You are smaller now. Easier to kill."

How does one kill a Dax? Iron.

"Wrench!" Chris commanded, throwing his hands up in the direction of the demon, orbing one of the old rusted tools out of the box. The orbs traced a light into the demon's chest and solidified, making a horrible squelching sound as it did.

The Dax had barely a second to realize what happened before it burst into flames and disintegrated, taking the wards with it.

"So long, Dax." Chris said, all of a sudden tired.

He let out a breath and sunk down to the floor. It only took a moment for the room to brighten with blue and white orbs not his own, depositing three angry looking mothers into the tiny closet. It took them a moment to realize that they were standing in the demon's ashes before they turned to look at him.

Chris just shrugged and closed his eyes.

"Birthdays suck."

 **November 16th, 2027. 6:00 am.**

Wyatt Matthew Halliwell didn't particularly like torturing his brother. The fact that he did it so often anyway had less to do with him actually _wanting_ to drive the younger Witchlighter to distraction and more with the fact that Chris desperately needed to be taught a lesson. He was sure his brother could appreciate that on some level and, knowing that, he hoped Chris would one day forgive him.

Ever so quietly, he snuck up on the sleeping prey-er, brother. He was stretched out on the couch per usual, having passed out there with some ridiculously complicated looking book opened on his stomach. Wyatt leaned over the back of the couch, getting as close as he dared and then, just as the moment was right, he screamed.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

... and immediately staggered back as a blunt force to his solar plexus sent all of the air rushing out of his lungs. A lifetime of training was the only thing to keep him standing. The Twice-Blessed doubled over and took a moment to wheeze, drawing a hasty breath before he looked back over at the couch.

All he could see over the top of the couch was his brother's hand, still poised from the telekinetic attack. Chris drug himself up, his sleep mussed condition doing nothing to soften the glare he was sending at his brother.

"Wyatt..." He glowered, looking positively murderous, "I swear to god, if you weren't my brother..."

Wyatt pulled himself up and grinned in spite of it, flicking a his hand behind his back subtly. Suddenly the whole glare-that-could-kill thing seemed a whole lot less threatening as a pink birthday hat orbed on the top of Chris's head.

"Good thing I'm your brother then, right? Otherwise I'd be drawn, quartered, hanging off a flagpole, blah, blah. Great hat by the way." Wyatt gave a brilliant display of teeth before ducking down and out of Chris's immediate range. The hat hit him square in the face anyway. Damn telekinesis. He decided to make his exit anyway, in his experience the first object was followed by a much heavier one.

Chris rolled his eyes, watching his brother try to quickly escape into the apartment's small kitchen. He eyed the book in his lap briefly, trying to decide if it would be too childish to hit him with that as well. He flipped it over, holding the page with a finger. 'A Brief Summary of Quantum Mechanics and the Relationship of Matter.'

He snorted lightly. Yeah, way too smart of a book to waste on Wyatt. Plus, somewhere along the line, he had gotten the reputation of being the most mature in the next generation of Halliwells and he didn't feel like spoiling that now.

He caught the edges of a few blue orbs and reached up in time to keep the party hat from rematerializing onto his head.

Wyatt, apparently, had no such hangups.

Chris held it out in front of him like it was a vat of demon spleens, noting from the corner of his eye that Wyatt had peeked around into the room just to see the reaction.

"Come on!" He called, "You can't really still think your birthday is evil!"

"Sure I can," Chris answered flatly before happily orbing the hat into the city garbage dump and attempting to go about his day. He rolled off the couch, pulling at his shirt as he went, realizing he'd fallen asleep in yesterday's clothes... again. His mother would not approve.

"Besides," He dropped the edges of his shirt with a shrug, "I don't really think it's _evil._ "

Wyatt perked up, "Really?"

"It's not evil, it's just cursed. Difference."

"Oh, for the love of... _Chris_!"

The younger Halliwell ignored him and crossed the small living room to his bedroom, letting the sound of the door slamming behind him be the only answer Wyatt would get.

"Yeah, that's mature." Wyatt's muffled voice added glumly, making Chris smile in spite of himself. Wyatt was right, he did somewhat understand, and _perhaps_ on a _really_ good day, appreciate the gesture, but there wasn't anything to be done for it. He'd accepted a long time ago that his birthdays just went... bad. He had no idea why his family had such a hard time doing the same.

Chris sighed and looked over at the closed door one more time. No doubt Wyatt was in the other room calling reinforcements. Chris knew the routine well and, like every year before this, he'd just have to suffer through it. He'd turned back to his room, hoping to prepare the best he could.

A wave of drowsiness washed over him abruptly as his bed came into view. The piece of furniture was practically begging him to catch up on the sleep he'd missed in the past week. He sighed and bypassed the idea, heading to get ready for the day. His family was bound and determined to drag him out into the world today, show him that it was possible to have a nice, catastrophe free birthday, hell or high water.

...Well, come to think of it hell _and_ high water had happened already (birthdays 6 and 13 to be precise). He'd have to think of a better metaphor.

Grudgingly, he moved over to his closet and pulled out some clothes at random, knowing Wyatt would only give him a few minutes before he orbed the door off its hinges. No way was Wyatt letting him off as easy as a party hat and a wakeup call. He had other things planned...

No sooner had he tugged a fresh shirt over his head when one of those plans reared its ugly head.

"Wyatt..." Chris called, magicking his door open with a glare.

The blond man peered around the door frame, smiling, "Yes?"

"Why is my phone singing Happy Birthday?"

 **6:30 am.**

Piper Halliwell hung up the phone with an inwardly satisfied smile, not disturbed in the slightest when Chris didn't pick it up. Knowing him, he'd probably orbed it out the window again, it was why he never got the nice phones.

Strictly speaking, the family didn't need cells anyway. With so much whitelighter blood in the mix they practically had a network going all of their own. The only thing that kept the little contraptions around was the fact that they were dead set on fitting into the mortal world. Yelling at the skies to communicate tended to make one look a bit crazy.

"Oo, Waffles," Leo leaned around his wife, grabbing the plates of food to set on the table. Piper squinted at him and brandished a finger.

"Don't touch those until the boys get here." She warned in her, 'I-mean-it-buster' voice.

Leo chuckled, "You mean Wyatt's actually trying to drag him out of the house?"

"Drag being the word," Piper rolled her eyes and and tipped her head back, shouting at the ceiling, "Chris, Wyatt. Stop fighting and come get breakfast!"

Piper tried not to look too pleased with herself as a blue glow obediently filled the kitchen, coalescing into her two eldest. Chris knocked his elbow into Wyatt's side bitterly, forcing him to unloop his arm around Chris's neck.

"Good morning boys," Piper smiled widely and stood on her toes to give each of them a peck on the cheek, "Happy birthday sweetie."

Chris mostly hid his wince, bit off a thanks, and tried to duck any similar comments by helping set the table. As concentrated he was at that task, he didn't miss the nudge and look Wyatt gave their parents, pointing at him and swirling a finger around his ear in the universal sign for cuckoos magoos.

Piper swatted Wyatt before turning to send a conspiratorial look at her other son, "Still? Really?" Wyatt just heaved a shrug.

The Charmed One sighed forcefully and leaned around her eldest, "Christopher, sweetie, there's nothing to be worried about, really."

"If you say so..." Chris said noncommittally, pointedly not looking at them.

"Your mother's right," Leo chipped in, "Nothing has happened in _years._ "

Chris was infinitely happy that his back was turned as he'd never been able to hide his guilt. He'd been convinced for years that Piper had some kind of scary witch sixth sense for lying. He was a fantastic liar normally but he could very rarely slip something past her.

He hoped this was one of those times. After all, technically he hadn't lied about the last three years... he'd just... omitted... a lot.

He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw that she'd paused in setting the table, eyes narrowed, head titled slightly to the side. Oh yeah, she was catching on.

"Brothers dearest!"

Chris let out his breath. Saved by the sister.

Melinda Halliwell, resplendent in purple pajamas, swept into the room like a queen in her very own castle. Of course that's how she walked _everywhere_. She flashed a smile at them and jumped up on her tiptoes to peck Wyatt on the cheek.

He waited patiently until she was on solid footing before mussing up her light brown hair even more that it already was. "Are there any ex-boyfriends I have to beat up today?"

"Meh," Melinda made a show of considering, "Try back next week, we'll see how this one lasts." She turned to Chris and gave him a once-over, eyebrow crooking up immediately.

"Oho! _Someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the couch this morning," Mel sidled up next to him, bumping him conspiratorially with her elbow, the height difference meaning she got him right in the pressure point in his side. Chris wondered, again, why his siblings liked to beat him up so often. It was even more infuriating with Mel because (being the gentleman he was) he'd never be able to hit her back.

Of course, Mel knew this and used it to her full advantage, conniving person that she was.

"Oo! Dad, look! Waffles!" Thankfully, she was also easily distracted.

 **8:00 am.**

"So," Melinda asked innocently, swirling her pen around in her fingers, "How's it feel to be 23 and independent? Good? Bad? Awesome?"

Chris eyed his little sister like one would look at a lion cub. Sure, it seemed cute and innocent, but it's idea of playing was going for the jugular. Beware all who tread here...

He turned back to doing the breakfast dishes, pretending like he was considering the question, "Hm, it feels exactly like being 22 and independent but one day older. Go figure."

Mel tapped at the textbook in her lap irritably, "Sure seems nice to be out there in the world... _outside of the Manor..._ " She leaned in her chair to emphasize the words.

"I'm not convincing them to let you move out."

The younger Halliwell crumpled in her seat, preparing an epic pout, "Oh come on!" She practically pounced out of the kitchen chair holding her French textbook in front of her like a bludgeoning shield. "Why are you so mean to me?"

Chris just gave her a look that was purely Piper before dropping the last dish into the drying rack.

Mel changed tactics and latched onto his arm, widening her green eyes and batting her eyelashes like a proper damsel, "Please-oh-please! Pretty please with sugar plums and hot fudge and marshmallows-."

"No."

"Why?" She huffed, letting him go, "You and Wyatt got to move out _years_ ago. I'm 19 Chris, they're stifling me! I need to be out there where I can actually _live_."

Chris turned the water off and sighed. He knew how she felt. In some ways she was more grown up than any of them. She balanced her witch and mortal duties easily, had been in college a year, had a decent savings, and knew exactly what she was doing with her life. That last one alone topped him and Wyatt in a heartbeat. It was a bit cruel to keep her locked up in her childhood room, staring at the severely outdated pink teddy bear runners on her walls.

"We offered to let you move in with us last year." He said halfheartedly. She only rolled her eyes in return.

"That'd be even worse than here. You guys are like a second set of parents. Wyatt freaks out any time I try to dress in something that doesn't cover me from knees to neck." She groaned in frustration, "This isn't fair. Just because you're not powerful enough to live on your own-" Her whole body froze and she looked at him, wide eyed, hand popped up to cover her mouth.

"Oh my gosh, I didn't mean that." She gasped and threw her hands out theatrically, wrists up, "Vanquish me now, really. I mean it." She winced, waiting for his response.

Chris pushed the annoyance into a corner. His lack of power was something he'd always been a little sore about, but he'd had years to come to terms. Didn't mean he didn't want to get her back though... He looked over at her and smirked, "Said the girl who can't orb."

The tension eased out of her shoulders and a half smirk came onto her face, "Says you." She wiggled her fingers in a small wave and a blue light overtook her body, orbs whisking her up and through the ceiling... and then she just popped back to where she was standing, looking smug as ever.

Unfortunately for Melinda, she'd been born after their father had gotten his own mortality. Technically she was still a witchlighter, but the dormant whitelighter genes were nearly impossible to coax out. Powers wise, she was the most vulnerable of the three, but she was too stubborn to let that remain the case.

The one power she did have she used to perfection, making her a very dangerous illusionist. She could make a blind man see, if it suited her. Still, it wasn't enough for their parents who were insisting on the magically buddy system. As much as he understood Mel's point of view, he sympathized with his parents' more. Better a stifled sister than a dead one.

"You can't illusion yourself an offensive power, Mel," Chris poked her in the shoulder, "You can still be hurt."

"Point is that the _demons_ don't know I can't orb." She shrugged, "I'd just fake the orb, pull an invisible woman, and bravely hide in the closet. I'd be fine."

She frowned when her brother made no moves to answer her. He just gave her an apologetic smile and moved off into the dining room.

"Besides," She pitched in, halfheartedly, "I have two ridiculously awesome brothers who can swoop in to save me."

Chris barely heard her, too busy with the sudden dark _pressure_ he felt. The world faded momentarily and he blinked sightlessly, almost forgetting to breathe in as a sudden overbearing feeling overtook him. He couldn't identify it as it seeped into his skin and then, just as it reached his heart, it dawned on him.

Complete. Utter. Hopelessness.

... and then his heart stopped.

"Chris!"

He sucked in a breath and stagged back shortly, only standing straight because of the hands on his arms. He blinked and focused on Melinda, her nearly identical green eyes staring at him widely.

"Chris," Melinda breathed, paler than usual, "Are you all right? You're...cold."

Was he alright? He wasn't entirely sure... He shook himself out of it, shutting his eyes briefly to find his balance before answering, "Yeah..." He said even as he put his palm over his heart to check if it was still beating.

"..the hell was that?" Melinda pressed, noticing the movement.

"Nothing," He said with more conviction than last time, "I'm fine." He stepped out of her grip and gave her a smile. "Really."

Melinda squinted at him, suspicious, but for once she didn't have a comment to add.

Chris looked down at his watch and winced slightly, "Ah, yeah, I gotta go make an appearance at Magic school." He stepped around her and deliberately ruffled her hair, "I'll see you at dinner tonight, alright?"

Chris disappeared in the shine of the bright blue orbs, leaving an uneasy looking Melinda standing alone in the Manor.


	2. Blood In the Library

**November 16th, 2020. 6:00**

This was not where he was supposed to be. Today was his 16th birthday. He was supposed to be doing many things. Having cake with his family, for one. Or desperately dodging his various temporarily reserrected relatives whose only mission in death seemed to be to asking awkward questions about girlfriends. At this point, he'd settle for standing in a DMV line even though the idea of having a license meant nil to someone who merely had to think it and they could be halfway across the world. Point was, Chris would rather be doing any of those things. _Any_. Instead, where was he now?

In jail. Grand.

Chris blew his bangs out of his eyes irritably and cast another look around the room for the millionth time. He looked from the handcuffs chaining him to metal table before casting around to look for a clock even though he knew the room didn't have one. It was less to actually know the time, he knew that perfectly well as he had a near freakishly correct inner clock, it was more of an avoidance tactic. Anything to keep him from staring dumbly at the wrinkled detective sitting across from him. A detective, he should mention, who'd done nothing but glare at Chris quizzically for the last couple hours.

The man seemed to have this idea that Chris had committed some sort of heinous crime or another, not that he'd deigned to explain what exactly that crime was. Chris had tried to start up a conversation in a number of varying ways, each one growing less and less polite, but the cop didn't speak. At least not beyond a few basic paperwork questions that Chris carefully answered before the man switched back to staring at him with glazed over eyes.

It was infuriating.

Usually, Chris wasn't usually an easy person to rattle, but in a way more obviously genetic than learned, he was more than a bit of a control freak. He liked things to go as he planned them to be. When they didn't, he got agitated. He could deal with it though, he'd just have to go make another plan to work around it and the world would be golden. Of course when that failed he got... neurotic.

However, as the detective seemed to know, there was no way to more effectively take away a person's sense of control than lock them to a table for no conceivable reason and then proceed to watch them like a circus sideshow. Frankly it was a credit to his patience that Chris had lasted _this_ long. He'd held on simply because he didn't want to give the guy any reason to ransack the Manor. There were lots of things in that place that would be very, very awkward to explain. Even with that cheerful mental image in mind, Chris's will was running thin.

And dammit! The man would not. Stop. Staring at him.

"Would you _stop that."_ Chris bit out the words even before he'd made the decision to say them.

The cop's wrinkled forehead shrunk into itself, giving him an unfortunate resemblance to a badly groomed pug. Yet he kept staring. The man was _damaged._ Chris twisted his hands in the cuffs and let out a shaking sigh, trying to distract himself from the urge to orb out of the damn things. That would crack magic open quite nicely, especially with that handy camera up in the corner.

Instead, Chris cast his glare upwards, staring through the foam ceiling tiles and up into Elderland, deciding that it was safe to at least be mad at _them._ They probably had something to do with this. They'd been less than charitable ever since Chris had turned down a charge a few months earlier. It'd taken a patented Piper death glare to get them to back down. Maybe this was some kind of childish elder retribution. He wouldn't be surprised.

"Talking to God?" The detective finally spoke, voice gruff and seemingly out of place after so much silence.

"Oh, so you're speaking now?" Chris tched, annoyed and unsurprisingly not receiving an answer. He finally shrugged and added, "Not god. Just some people who think they are."

The older man opened his mouth like a fish then closed it, scratching at his receding hairline and casting around uselessly while he tried to process that information. Chris couldn't even stir up the will to guess what that conclusion was, just as long as it wasn't related to a straight jacket.

"Now, what did you say your name was again?" The detective looked up from the papers again, visibly concentrating as if Chris were going to attempt to trick him. For a second, he entertained the idea of doing so, before his mind snapped back to the straight jacket and a search warrant with the Manor's address on it. Instead, he just settled for an martyred sigh.

"Christopher. Perry. Halliwell."

The man squinted, "Not a junior?"

"No!"

"Then what's your dad's name?"

"You know who he is." Chris didn't roll his eyes, he rolled his whole head, "Leo Wyatt? The guy standing out there in the waiting room yelling at your boss and getting you fired." Chris rolled his eyes. Leo and the family had kept them updated on their efforts over the whitelighter link. So far the police had stonewalled them almost entirely.

The detective tapped on the desk, "You sure he's your real dad?"

" _Yes."_

The silence dragged, "You got an older twin or something?"

Chris attempted to toss his hands in the air in frustration only to be tugged down again by the handcuffs. "For the love of... _No!_ That isn't even _possible._ " He nearly growled, "Look, I don't know what damage you have, and I'm not sure what you have against me, but you've got to get over it. You can't just come to my school, in the middle of class, and _arrest_ me with absolutely no explanation. The least you could do for me is give me a reason."

The detective's expression went from confused to annoyed, "We've got every right to ask you questions, kid. Have a little respect for the badge and cooperate."

"I had a 'little respect' when I got here _eight freaking hours ago!_ Excuse me if I'm running low on it now. Besides, I haven't lost my respect for _the_ badge, I've lost my respect for _your_ badge." Chris was growling now, barely resisting the urge to orb, if only just to go look up his rights. He knew there were laws against this somewhere. He should have a guardian in here with him at least.

"Just-" Chris took a calming breath, "tell me what the charges are."

The Detective looked him up and down cautiously before attempting to speak, "Okay then, you're here on charges of impersonating a minor, resisting and evading arrest, escaping from prison, and assault on one Sergeant Morris..." The man's eyes slid to the left and he mumbled another sentence too low to hear, and Chris wasn't going to let him get away with that.

"What was that last part?" He pressed.

The officer refused to look at him, "... seventeen years ago."

"You've got to be kidding," Chris stared in wonder at the collective stupidity, "I wasn't even _conceived_ yet."

"So you say..." The Detective said dramatically, "Your prints match perfectly to our records."

The teenager scoffed, "Then your records are crap. This is insane."

A sharp knock broke off whatever incredibly witty retort the detective was conjuring up and Henry Mitchell poked his head in the room, making a small calming gesture at Chris before stepping in.

"Detective?" Henry tapped the man on the shoulder and gestured at the phone in his hand, "We have Darryl Morris on the line. We sent him those pictures and he wants to speak with you."

The Detective crooked an eyebrow but took the phone nonetheless.

"Ah, Sergeant M- I mean Chief, apologies. We were just hoping you could just confirm the identity- Well, no." The Detective's confidence visibly slid away, inch by inch as the voice on the other side of the phone spoke. A steady minute passed by until the detective's face was a nice shade of red.

Chris waited until he was fully absorbed with the phone call before looking up at Henry with raised eyebrows. His uncle just smiled smugly to himself.

"No, well, yes. Yes I am aware of how aging works. No, you're right people do not age backwards... I-I do understand... No sir, I am not an idiot... Yes I do like my badge. There's no need to call my superiors. Yes. Y-...You want to what?" The Detectives face crumpled into near fear, then back to the typical confusion before he held out the phone to Chris. "He wants to speak with you..."

Chris tossed another look at Henry, and with his silent nod, he twisted his hands inside of the cuffs and took the phone. "Uh, Hello?"

"Sorry about that," The voice said easily. It was deep and kind voice, one that struck a sense of familiarity in him.

"No problem... I guess." Chris responded feeling slightly out of his depth.

"They've been told to let you go. Sorry it took so long," Daryl chuckled lightly before he sighed, "Tell your parents and aunts hello and... I'm sorry, for, you know, _everything_. Any time they're in my neck of the woods, they're welcome to stop by. Sheila misses them."

Chris let the words sink in, face softening. The man sounded tired and...sad perhaps. "Sure," He answered eventually before continuing hesitantly, "So... do I _want_ to know how this happened?"

"Oh _hell_ no." Daryl laughed outright, "Still gives me a headache sometimes!"

Chris couldn't help but smile, if just a bit, "Noted. Thanks." Better just to write this off as some kind of spell gone terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

"Anytime.. and I mean that this time. Oh, and Chris? Happy Birthday."

 **November 16th, 2027. 9:30 am.**

Chris had discovered a long time ago that he was particularly adept at pretending to read. What was sad was that he had to do it so often, just for a moment of peace. He loved every member of his family dearly... all 14 of them. As a whole, though, they were all nosy, loud, and collectively ignorant of the concept of alone time. Thus, he'd practically carved out a corner of the library for himself just for such times that his family was being inquisitive. He'd long since learned that nothing quite deflected inquiring minds quite like a glaring librarian.

All he needed today was just an hour to collect his thoughts and steel himself for the inevitable train wreck that was going to be his day. He didn't think he could take much more than that before one of the Halliwells braved the stacks and dragged him out. In the meantime, though, he holed up in the Magic School library, using the time to figure out exactly what had happened to him in the Manor's kitchen. He was still shaken from it. Every so often he'd reach up to the left side of his chest, just to make sure his heart was still beating.

He still felt... odd, though he couldn't pinpoint what was off. It was like he was... detached. Floating above his own head and watching someone else live his life for him. Every once in a while a stray feeling or alien thought passed through his mind like a ghost, nondescript but there. When that wasn't happening, he'd get aches and pains, sharp and sudden, but barely there, skin prickling like it had just fallen asleep before disappearing in the next second.

Chris jumped as he felt another pain down his back, shooting down his spine in hasty spikes. He hissed and snapped the book in his lap shut irritably. It was getting worse. He twisted to rub his back, mind drifting off again, chasing down possibilities at a hundred miles an hour. Then the idea struck him...

What if it wasn't magical? What it it was it wasn't some magical backlash or long distance curse? What if there was just some normal _mortal_ problem?

"You're in the way,"

Chris nearly jumped at the voice, and he twisted to see a man standing next to his chair, a rust red book in hand. He was sharp faced and pale. Hell, the man didn't look like he'd slept in years. Chris frowned at him, naturally suspicious. The man seemed surprised for a second and raised his hands as if surrendering.

"Apologies," He said in a thin voice, "I must return this book." He pointed lightly and Chris followed his finger to the shelf directly behind him.

He should have felt apologetic, he was sure, but another wisp of emotion danced through his skull, sending him into a dark suspicious mood for a moment. He moved out of the way wordlessly, eyes narrowed.

The man simply nodded a thanks and awkwardly slipped behind him to stash the book in its empty spot. He moved to turn away before something on the shelf caught his eye and he reached out to pull three more books out and put them back in their correct order.

Chris crossed his arms impatiently, staring the man down, "Are you a librarian?"

The man stopped shortly, in the middle of freeing six more books to be put back, blinking at him dimly. "No." He shook his head and returned to putting the tomes in their rightful space.

 _[[ I call upon the ancient power. To help us in this darkest hour. Let the book return to this place. Claim refuge in its rightful space.]]_

Chris blinked, momentarily shocked at the random spell, before forcefully shaking the thoughts away and turning back to the man who seemed to be completely lost in his own head, shifting books down another shelf to make room for the proper owners.

"So you're a teacher, then?" Chris pressed.

The man twisted, yet again, seeming surprised that he was being talked to. "No. I'm not a teacher." He moved to go back to the shelves, but Chris telekinetically pulled the books from his hands and slammed them into their respective spots.

"You're too old to be a student. So who are you?" Chris demanded.

For a split second, the man seemed angry, clouded hazel eyes narrowing dangerously, and in a flash, it was gone.

"Alumni," He stated simply, "I'm an alumni."

Chris huffed moodily, as the random emotion retreated, making him feel off balance and floaty again. He didn't like it.

"...you are?" The man returned, unblinking.

"Leaving." Chris grabbed his jacket, frowning forcefully and trying to pass by the creepy pale man... except said creepy pale man evidently didn't want to let him leave. He'd stepped right into Chris's path, cutting off any escape in the narrow aisle.

"You are also too old to be a student." The man stared up at him, until his eyes slid to the side where a book about imps was completely out of place between two spell books.

Chris glared, "Alumni. Now if you'd just let me pass, I'll give you and your OCD some alone time, you both seem to love each other very, very much."

The man's attention snapped back, "No. What is your name."

Chris sighed and swiped a hand over his eyes. All of a sudden he just felt so tired, so spent. He eased a breath out, trying to dispel the weird mood and mostly succeeding. He looked back to the shorter man who was still staring at him unnervingly.

"Look, I'm sorry I snapped. I'm just not feeling well. If you could just step aside, I need to go talk to a healer about it."

The man blinked quickly and tilted his head. "No."

"Okay, man," Chris snorted, anger returning quickly, " **Move.** "

"No."

"Oh, that's it." Chris raised his hands and gestured at the shelves, sending books sailing from opposite shelves and nesting back absolutely out of order.

The man's mouth dropped open and a small infantile sound dropped out of his mouth. It was the high pitched whine of a toddler who'd had his toys taken away and cruelly stashed on a high shelf. Chris felt momentarily bad before slipping past the man and escaping.

Another pain stabbed him in the ankle, tripping up his steps. He managed to catch himself on a desk, and waited as his ankle throbbed for a few seconds before it faded completely.

"Christopher," Ms. Donovan came up next to him, patting him on the shoulder in slightly mollifying way only a childhood babysitter could do. "Are you alright, dear?"

He tested his ankle hesitantly. The pain was completely gone, "Yeah," He frowned, too confused to be embarrassed at tripping over nothing, "I think I'm- Ow! Son of a-" Chris jolted and pulled his forearm up against his chest in pain.

"What in the..." Chris pulled his arm out slowly and heard Ms. Donovan gasp as they both watch his sleeve quickly saturate with red, his blood already running down his fingers and pooling on the floor.

 **9:45 am.**

"Why won't it heal?" Ms. Donovan asked worriedly, hands gripping Chris's shoulder protectively. Chris pressed his lips together at the pain, wondering the exact same thing but not particularly wanting to venture an answer.

The floating feeling had decreased somewhat, receding into the back of his mind, occasionally taunting him with bare flashes of recognition or feelings that didn't even last long enough for him to give a name to. He didn't really want to think about that either, especially not in front of Ms. Donovan. She was a sweet woman and deserved not to worry.

It didn't help that she'd absolutely refused to leave him alone, dragging him up to his father's office and tearing through the halls to find a whitelighter when they discovered Leo wasn't there.

Now the two of them had him firmly seated on the sofa, arm stretched out with the Whitelighter, Joseph, bent over it, spreading a disgusting looking gritty brown paste over the open gash on the inside of his arm.

"You're lucky, you know," Joseph glanced up briefly, "If you'd have been outside of magic school when this had happened..."

Chris just grunted in agreement, tapping irritably with his good hand as the whitelighter pushed the goop hastily into the still oozing gash. He got that Joseph was just attempting to get the bleeding to stop, but could he at least _try_ not to cause more pain?

Joseph smoothed the paste out, making Chris hiss, before bringing out a bowl of purple tinged water and pouring it over his arm. The paste and blood slicked off, revealing a scabbed over, but obviously much more healed wound on his arm.

"So?" Ms. Donovan looked at the whitelighter expectantly, "Why didn't it heal?"

Joseph frowned quickly as he pulled out some clean bandages and went to wind them around his arm. "I have no idea," he shook his head, then paused and looked up at Chris almost hesitantly, "unless it was-"

"Self inflicted?" Chris asked, annoyed that he would even think that. "No. It was _not_." He sank back into the chair, tired and blood deprived.

Ms. Donovan patted him on the arm sympathetically, "We really should find your father."

Chris cracked open an eye and looked down at himself, frowning. The cut had most likely nicked something major in his arm because his side was almost completely covered in blood. He looked like a suicide victim at a bad haunted house. The thought made him almost sympathize with Joseph's thought... which then made him jump to what his parents would think.

"Augh," He slid a hand across his face again, "No we shouldn't."

The woman and the whitelighter blinked at him. Joseph spoke first, "Why the he-er..heck not?"

Chris sent him a wry grin. He must be new.

"Look," He sat up straighter, trying to convince the both of him he was fine, "My parents are crazy protective enough as it is. If they see me like I am now, they're going to have a coronary and then Mel will _never_ get to move out of the house. So no, we're not going to tell them."

The Whitelighter and Librarian traded looks then turned back to him as if he was nuts.

"Just!" He added quickly, "just until I get a change of clothes and a reason for this at least. If I can propose a solution, then they'll be less likely to freak out. Okay?" He eyed them both, willing them to go along with it.

Neither of them looked particularly happy to be put at odds with the ex-elder and eldest Charmed One, but with a little more prodding, they eventually agreed to giving him two hours to fess up or they would for him.

Chris pulled his watch out of his pocket and used his clean sleeve to wipe the blood off the face.

Whoops. In all this, he'd nearly forgot. So much for the creepy correct internal clock.

"Ms. Donovan, Joseph. Thanks, but I'm gonna get started on this right now." He went to jump off the couch and was hit with a severe case of blood loss induced vertigo before regaining his bearings and orbing out. He barely comprehended the transfer, knowing where to go by heart, a few seconds later, he materialized in another apartment.

"There you are, I was about to get..."

Chris heard her voice before he even finished orbing, her tanned face and dyed copper hair forming as the blue lights of the orbs cleared his vision. She took one look at him and her face dropped into open disbelief. "... worried." She finished her sentence dully.

"Uh, hey," He smiled apologetically, "Sorry I'm late. I was a bit...sidetracked."

"Tell me who did this," Bianca looked up, face dark, "because I'm going to kill them."

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposting here from FF.net.


End file.
